


Familiar Strangers

by MelodramaticMrTails



Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blood and Injury, Bloodplay, M/M, Masochism, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sadism, Temporary Character Death, Threats, Woundplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 18:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18168713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodramaticMrTails/pseuds/MelodramaticMrTails
Summary: Slade meets an alternate version of his Dick Grayson and they have a good (?) time.





	Familiar Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> *heed all tags please!  
> another fill this time for "talon ambushing slade". i always love an opportunity to write a mean dick grayson u vu
> 
> requests can be sent to my tumblr jtredactedsionis!

Slade more or less precariously drags Edward’s unconscious body behind him. They said to keep him safe, not awake. The best way to keep him safe is by him not talking. That way Slade won't kill him.

A pause.

Someone's here.

Without thinking about it too in depth, Slade drops Edward and puts his hand on his sword. His eye scans the room slowly, searching for the lingering presence. If they've already tracked Riddler to Slade's own home, that means there's a rat in their ranks. The longer Slade looks, however, the more that clearly isn't the case.

He walks away from Edward’s body, using him to bait the intruder out, but it's not taken. Whoever’s here isn't here for Edward. Considering how well they're avoiding him, he shouldn't be surprised. Edward’s enemies aren't nearly so sly or stealthy. Slade can't think of anything particularly bad he's done lately to warrant someone on his case but it's not like that's stopped people from fucking with him before.

Slade looks up to scan the ceiling where the intruder had just been. They're quick, he'll give them that. It has to be a bat; no one else can elude him so easily let alone at all. That being said, most of them are beyond playing games like this with him now a days. What's changed?

Someone grabs him. Slade jolts, more startled by the fact of _being_ startled, as the intruder gets the drop on him. They know him, and well, because they don't give him a chance to react. The move is precise, practiced even; an arm wraps around his throat and snaps his neck without hesitation.

So, not a bat.

Slade awakens still in his own home at least, sat on the couch in his study. His hands are cuffed together well, but other than that he's not restrained. His primary concern at the moment, however, is the familiar intruder; Dick. Did Dick snap his neck like that? He's not a killer, not even if it's Slade, but no one else seems to be around. Dick lounges in one of the chairs, feet dangling off one arm and arm off the other. His new outfit is- definitely _something_.

“Needed an image change?” Slade asks. “I preferred the other suit, personally.” Dick lifts a torn piece of cloth to his face, nuzzling it against his nose and mouth and breathing in deeply. It's a question mark from Edward’s suit- who Slade unfortunately realises isn't in sight. Something is up, obviously, but Slade isn't sure just what it is yet.

“Riddle me this,” Dick hums, looking at the fabric he holds. “What walks, talks, and looks like Slade Wilson, lives in his house _and_ carries his sword?” If he's not Slade Wilson to Dick, this ‘Dick’ probably isn't actually Dick. He's such a stunning likeness though and he even sounds completely identical. Slade legitimately wouldn't be able to tell him from the real one without the different suits. That and the four parallel scars that run diagonal down his face.

“Where's Riddler?” Slade asks.

“I gave him something to think about, don't worry,” ‘Dick’ assures with an amused laugh. That, however, doesn't sound like him. “I can't say the same for your other friend.”

“Other friend?” Slade repeats. Dick turns over the decorative dish on the table next to him and a severed head rolls out and thumps to the floor, leaving blood everywhere. Slade has never seen this guy in his life. An educated guess says he was someone who showed up for Edward and found this fake Dick, instead. Unfortunately, for him. A clone, maybe? Why would a clone be expecting a different Slade?

Dick looks at him curiously for a moment before moving to get to his feet. Slade watches as he gets closer, picking up the head as he goes and holding it at him. He seems puzzled that this isn't getting a reaction. At least, not the one he was expecting. Slade gives him an annoyed look when he waves the head inches from his face.

“You really aren't Wilson,” he murmurs with interest, throwing the head aside carelessly and getting blood over even more of Slade's nice study.

“You're not Dick Grayson,” Slade replies. Dick purses his lips and cocks his head. “Who are you?”

“Richard, actually,” he says. “ _Richard_ Grayson. Who are _you_?”

“Slade Wilson,” Slade assures. Richard looks skeptical. Not a sibling, no. Slade wonders if the weird energy readouts cropping up lately had anything to do with this. “Deathstroke the Terminator?” Richard laughs. He brings his bloody hands to Slade's jaw and touches his face with a weird intimacy his counterpart would never dream of.

“Sorry, I just can't imagine _President_ Wilson being called _death_ anything,” he assures. There is so much to unpack here. Richard pushes the fingers of one hand through the nape of Slade's neck and without any warning, jabs Slade's own sword through his throat. He's fast. Fast and _mean_. “You're going to hurt my feelings trying to take my bracelets off already.”

Slade reaches with a newly freed hand to grab Richard's, wrapping it around the sword handle and pushing him back. His own Dick is abnormally strong for his size and judging by the sheer resistance Richard puts up, so is this one, but he's still not stronger than Slade. Richard fights him the entire way, moving both hands to try to keep the sword pierced through his neck with a wicked grin on his face the entire time. When he starts to _twist_ it, Slade firms his grip and shoves back hard enough to pull the sword out of his throat.

Irritably, Slade jerks the sword out of Richard’s grip and grabs both his wrists firmly. Even then, Richard tries to lunge at him and Slade has to wrestle him down to his knees. He pushes harder and harder to try to subdue Richard until the fake finally winces and weakens a little.

“You're hurting me,” he insists in a strained little voice as if Slade's going to buy that now. “ _More_.”

That's not what Slade expected. Richard lets out such a purely sexual noise as he turns his hands in the painful grip, it catches Slade off guard. Definitely _not_ his Dick Grayson. As much as this guy may look, talk, and move like Dick, he doesn't think like him.

Richard suddenly yanks instead of pushes, pulling Slade off balance and toppling them both. It's a struggle but Richard manages to snag the open side of his cuff to the foot of the couch and the whole thing slides towards them as Slade irritably tries to pull away. In an instant, Richard is sat on his chest, a wild look in his eyes as he wraps his hands around Slade's throat and pushes his thumbs into the gouge still there.

“So many _choices_ ,” he purrs. “Pretty mouth, pretty eye socket- or maybe I should just _fuck_ you through the hole in your _throat_.” It's actually incredibly disorientating hearing Dick's voice from Dick's face say things very much not Dick like.

Slade yanks the couch hard, toppling it and quickly making Richard disengage. He hops away with some fancy little moves as Slade gets back to his feet with his sword. Richard grins, face and hands smeared with blood. It arbitrarily occurs to Slade that all of this is, in fact, just a game to Richard. If he really wanted to do some damage, he obviously could. He's as skilled as Dick is without any of the moral limitations.

“What do you want?” Slade demands mildly.

“Oooh, angry. You're hot when you're angry,” Richard replies. “You're not _my_ Wilson and I'm not _your_ Talon.” Talon? Interesting choice.

“Clearly,” Slade agrees.

“But you are far more interesting than my Wilson,” he purrs and starts moving forward again. Slade raises his sword, pointing it at him in warning but it doesn't work that way. This Grayson obviously feels no fear, either. Instead of being deterred, Richard runs his tongue along the flat edge, still covered in Slade's blood, as he gets closer. His intentions are hard to read but Slade allows him near for curiosity's sake.

Richard reaches for his face with both hands, cradling his jaw in his palms, and grins.

“If I can't have what I came here for from my Wilson,” he purrs, leaning up to put his face intimately close to Slade’s. “Maybe we can have some fun instead.” Slade isn't sure they have the same idea of ‘fun’. Richard kisses him and the taste of blood on his mouth is overpowering. With that exception, he kisses _really_ well. Slade wraps an arm around Richard’s waist and answers the kiss more fully.

What can he say? He's down for sleeping with a mean Dick Grayson.

Richard pushes his hands back over his shoulders to claw at Slade's back as he ravishes Slade's mouth with his tongue. He bites, unsurprisingly, nipping at Slade's tongue almost _lightly_ before catching his bottom lip and biting down hard enough to split it. Slade growls an annoyed sound as Richard pulls back with a much too pleased grin. His hands run back up his spine and tangle in his hair, trailing blood just absolutely everywhere.

“I like that noise,” he says mischievously. “I bet I can make you make more.” Slade wouldn't bet against that. Richard kisses behind his ear, bites him again and follows the curve of his jaw with his tongue. He knows Dick is a good kisser to but the way Richard applies it is drastically different. Richard pulls his head back to trail kisses down the front of his neck and Slade blindly shoves his sword into the floor, wedging it in place.

Honestly, Slade should expect it, he does even, but it still makes him jolt. Richard presses his mouth over the wound in his neck, just beginning to heal closed now, and kisses it softly. The contact makes a shudder goes down Slade's spine and he snarls a warning. One Richard definitely doesn't heed. He grips Slade's hair even firmer and presses his tongue into the gouge, frenching the hole in his throat for a good couple seconds before Slade can push him away. It takes grabbing him around the jowls and forcing him off to detach him and even then, Richard's grip in his hair remains solid.

“Aw, what's wrong?” Richard asks with a grin as he swipes his tongue across his blood soaked mouth. Even his teeth are pink now. He dances a hand along Slade's neck and Slade grabs his wrist before he can shove his fingers in his injury again. It's not exactly painful but it is a sensation he prefers to avoid when possible. “Not into wound fucking, Mr. Slade?”

“Not particularly,” Slade assures mildly.

“Not _entirely_ different from my Slade, I guess,” Richard hums. “Shame, you have such _pretty_ holes.”

“I'm flattered,” Slade says dryly. Richard twists his hand out of Slade's grip to grab his head again and return to kissing him on the mouth. The taste of blood is more potent than ever and Slade can feel the sticky residue all over his mouth, jaw, and neck. When Richard inevitably becomes bored of this, Slade feels his hands begin to stray again. They settle in either dip of his shoulders and none to discreetly push. He's definitely a lot more demanding than Dick ever was. Slade gets down to his knees and Richard only breaks their kiss when there's too much distance between him.

It's strangely thrilling seeing Dick's blood covered face look down at him like this; wild, hungry eyes and wicked grin.

“Don't you _love_ having powerful men at your feet?” he purrs, grabbing Slade's hair with one hand and with the other, he pushes the waistband of his suit down. His cock springs out already at full attention, not that Slade can be surprised, and Richard strokes himself leisurely. “Though in my case, they're usually already dead. Not for lack of trying.”

Slade looks up at him without amusement as he _chortles_. Richard guides the shiny tip of his cock to Slade's mouth and pushes in slow but unbridled. He grabs Slade's head with both hands as he sinks into his throat, humming with content as he bottoms out easily. Slade grips his thighs. His throat constricts around it when he swallows, making him feel how deep it is.

“No gag reflex, either?” Richard muses. “No fun.” He pulls out just as slow and Slade can see the blood and spit left along his cock before he thrusting back in. Richard pushes in as far as he can and shakes Slade's head against his lap, holding him down firmly. Slade glides his tongue along the underside.

“Jericho makes such pretty faces gagging on my cock,” Richard hums. Slade chokes, his throat convulsing suddenly and nearly making him retch. The slight drawback is instinctive but Richard holds him in place with a pleased moan. “There we go. Much better. Keep your throat tight for me.”

Slade gives him an annoyed look but still, Richard doesn't stop smiling. He ruts his cock down Slade's throat with short, deep thrusts and sighs in pleasure. With one hand, Richard slips his thumb under Slade’s eye patch and flips it up out of the way. He licks his lips as he traces the socket.

“So glad to know there's a Joseph here, too. Maybe I'll look him up,” he says and Slade gives him an even nastier look. Richard changes his pace, from taking his time to fucking Slade's face quick and hard. He doesn't even bother giving Slade a chance to take a breath- not that he needs one. Pink tinted drool runs down his chin as Slade presses his tongue against the underside, feeling the drag on his tongue with every thrust.

“I should have stabbed you a little higher,” Richard assures with a longing sigh. “At least you're a lot better at this than my Slade.” Slade is curious as to what, exactly, Richard had gone to his Slade _for_. He's more curious as to how much of what he's saying is true. Slowly, Richard pulls out and Slade breathes in deep before reaching to wipe some spit from his mouth with the back of his hand. Richard presses his foot against Slade's hard on.

“For me?” he purrs. “Let's have a look. On your hands and knees, _Mr_. Slade.” Slade doesn't so much as budge, arching a brow as he stares up at Richard. This gets another laugh out of him.

“Ooh, there's still fight in you,” Richard says. “Now that's fun.” He grabs Slade by the back of the neck and throws him downward roughly even with the mild resistance Slade puts back. Quickly, Slade catches himself on his hands before he hits his sword. He stares at the sharp blade only to brace himself more firmly when Richard grabs his hair and tries to shove him closer.

“Stay down,” he instructs, making Slade fight against his hand to stay off the blade. “Or don't. I wouldn't mind fucking your pretty _corpse_.” Slade looks at him out the corner of his eye but doesn't answer. When Richard lets him go, he stays in place. This is an interesting change of pace- even rough partners are rarely this rough with him. And even less violent. Slade's enjoying himself.

Richard kicks his knees apart further to both steady him and make some room. He palms Slade's cock from between his thighs with an appreciative hum. Unsnapping the button of his jeans, Richard hooks his fingers under the waistband of his boxers and shimmies them both down around his knees. In one hand, he strokes Slade's cock from base to tip and in the other, fondles his sack. Slade breathes heavy and with minimum coaxing, he's already dripping precum. A shudder briefly touches the back of his neck as Richard runs his tongue up his perineum and over his hole.

Slade scoffs a quiet, content noise. Richard pulls at his rim with a thumb before slicking him with some of his own precum. The lube he just happens to have on him makes Slade that much more curious. A pair of slicked fingers are thrust into him knuckle deep with little warning and Slade snarls at the suddenness. He's finger fucked roughly with no delay, slender fingers twisting and curling against his insides.

“Feisty and tight,” Richard comments. “Someone's been neglecting you.” There's hardly a second between him pulling his fingers out and pushing the tip of his cock in their place. Richard bucks into him all at once, yanking a raspy curse from Slade's throat with it and burying himself to the hilt without pause. Once sheathed, he stops, though it seems more to enjoy himself than it is for Slade's benefit.

“Anyone ever teach you any manners, kid?” Slade grunts mildly.

“Someone tried once,” Richard assures as he rocks his hips forward. Discomfort is definitely present but fuck it feels good. Slade can't even remember the last time he was fucked properly rough. Richard grips his hips, giving him a yank back, and again forcing Slade to catch himself so he doesn't fall into his blade. It gives him a little more breathing room, intentionally or otherwise.

Right away, the pace Richard sets is brutal. Slade adjusts to brace himself on his forearms instead just for a better purchase. The fingers digging into his thighs draw blood and leave bruises in their wake. Every thrust hits his sweet spot hard and precise- practiced, even. His cock leaks precum to the floor beneath him, bobbing between his legs with the rough movements. Even his vision is unfocused.

He needs to get fucked stupid more often.

Richard is obviously more interested in his own pleasure than Slade's but it's a commonly aligned goal. Unsurprisingly, like his counterpart, he has the stamina to keep up his intensive pace for a lot longer than most people can, too. Slade growls in pleasure. He feels Richard's hands leave him and moments later, an escrima sticks is yanked under his throat. Richard pulls him back, pulling him off his forearms and making him awkwardly balance on his fingers for grip. The hard tip of his cock rubs Slade’s prostate relentlessly at this angle.

“Healed up already?” Richard hums. “Impressive. Too bad that means you have to breathe through your nose and mouth again.” The stick puts pressure right against his windpipe, severely restricting his breathing. Richard adjusts just slightly to cut him off completely. He lets out a little sing song moan.

“It feels so nice when you squeeze down like this,” he groans, grinding his hips up more firmly. Richard pulls on his neck so hard, Slade can feel where the bruise will form. “Come for me, _Deathstroke_.” He's so close anyways, a few more rough, jarring thrusts and orgasm hits him hard. Richard keeps his suffocating hold on him and his vision begins fading rapidly in the aftermath.

“That's it,” Richard purrs, rutting into him deep. He moans so sweet when he comes, pumping Slade full of his hot seed before finally releasing his hold. Slade sucks in a breath and the pulsing sensitivity left from his orgasm makes goosebumps bloom over his skin. He steadies himself on his arms again. Richard pulls out slow and pushes his hard cock between Slade's thighs, grinding between the crook of his thigh and his soft cock.

Athletic little brat is still hard.

“Riddle me this,” Richard says. “What's green and purple and smells _great_ when they cry.”

Edward.

Dammit.

Slade reacts quick as Richard lunges, grabbing his wrist and preventing him from potentially killing Edward instantly. Richard flings himself around, hitting Slade hard in the jaw with his stick as he tries to disengage. He's still _so_ full of energy. As much as Slade finds another round tempting, he needs to take his chance to subdue Richard while he has it. He might not get another chance.

“What's wrong, Mr. Slade? Not so interested in poor little Eddie joining us?” Richard laughs. Slade slams him against a wall, briefly disorientating him, and Richard grins wildly before trying to lunge at him again. He pushes off so hard, he nearly dislocates his shoulder against the cuff. Richard stops, looks at it, and laughs. “Ooh, you are a kinky bastard. Going to have your way with me now?”

Without warning, Richard lashes out, throwing his escrima sticks straight for Edward. Slade, fortunately, is ready for it but catching the electrified thing still gives him an unpleasant jolt. Richard chortles manically.

“I'm going to fuck you in every hole until you cry then make new ones and fuck you in those,” he growls in a low, sensual tone. Slade shakes his hand out, getting rid of the number feeling left behind, and pulls his pants back up. He goes ahead and latches down Richard's other wrist, avoiding his attempt to bite, before tucking him back into his pants as well. Richard yanks and rattles against his binds like a wild animal.

Slade looks back at Edward, still stunned with his cane in hand like he was ever going to do anything. Seeing Richard whip around covered in blood probably stopped his heart for a second there. His eyes are bloodshot and there's distinct tear trails down his cheeks.

“Have you been crying?” Slade asks. Edward jerks back into animation.

“No,” he snaps and bristles angrily. What the hell did Richard say to him? “Is this a ‘friend’ of yours?”

“No,” Slade replies.

He should call Dick.


End file.
